


A dark veil, studded with stars

by heartofstanding



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, possible spoilers for the third movie, references to tolkien's greater legendarium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he is healed, Kili sees the star-kindler, the queen of stars. Yet the wound is not healed, for a shard of the arrow is still within him, deeply buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dark veil, studded with stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was written partly as a reaction to my confusion over Kili's supposed Morgul-wound and as a reaction to me falling deeply in love with Varda after reading _The Book of Lost Tales: Part One_.

**I.**

For a moment he sees Tauriel, surrounded by white light. Yet the vision changes, her body becoming a veil for a light that does not (will not, cannot) grow dim, and in her hands Tauriel holds stars, and her hair is studded with thousands of stars, bright points of light that promise that the darkness is not inescapable. He feels the light of her eyes upon him, her cool fingers against his cheek, his brow. Her mouth opens.

And despite himself, his eyes close, and when they open, the light is gone. Tauriel stands before him still, but she seems herself, as she was in the halls of the Elven-king. Not as he had seen her for that one brief moment, so perfect it seems crystalline in his memories, as though she walked amongst stars, had been their queen. It feels as though he has caught glimpse of something he could not (should not) see with the waking eye, if something had peeled back the veil into the Unseen for his eyes to see.

In the lamplight, Tauriel's hair shines dully, but the stars are gone. He thinks of the star-queen he had glimpsed, if she had love for him in her heart, yet it would only be a dream, a glimpse of a world where he will never walk. Far, far beyond him is she, like the frost covering the peak of the highest mountain in all of Arda.

He does not – he wants his brother, the constant strength and warmth of Fíli beside him, the light of his golden hair and the rough touch of his hands familiar and settling. He feels the longing deep in his bones for the star-queen to return, to vanquish the chill deep within him. Tauriel's fingers are warm against his own, her words gentle, but it is not—

He closes his eyes.

**II.**

They leave what remains of Laketown with the voices of the crowd ringing in their ears, fury burning in their hearts at the accusations the Master has hurled at them, the fire those words have kindled in the people of Laketown. Kíli crouches low in the boat, his leg stiff but not sore, and thinks they will find the Master's words true. Their kin _(Thorin)_ had woken the dragon, had brought Laketown to a ruin of flames, after happily taking the Master's hospitality and making promises that Thorin would never keep.

He does not think of Bard's words, the frozen weight of them hard and sharp in Kíli's chest. W _hy waste words and wrath on those unhappy creatures. Doubtless they perished first in fire!_

Their home is theirs once more, but their kin—

They were lucky, still, Kíli knows. Lucky to live still, lucky that Tauriel and Bard had saved them from the crowd that wanted blood and given them safe passage away from Laketown. Lucky they had escaped without injury. Lucky they are not amongst those injured Tauriel is staying behind to help. Even if they do not feel it, they are so lucky that he feels sick upon it.

He watches Tauriel growing smaller as the current pulls them away from the smouldering ruins, watches her turn back to save others as she saved him.

**III.**

It is a long journey by from the riverbank to the Mountain, and he is weary, the cold in his bones lingering. It doesn't help that Fíli, Óin and even Bofur seem reluctant to leave his side for a moment, insisting on fussing over him. He is _fine_ – the wound is already closed, nothing there but a white mark. His breath comes easier, the cold does not come from the wound anymore. He is fine.

**IV.**

When they stop for the night, he is restless and bitterly, bitterly cold. The ache is back, worse, and a dark mist is before his eyes. He presses closes to Fíli, curling around him as they haven't since they were children in the Ered Luin, sleeping piled together like newborn kittens. Fíli grumbles a bit, but he doesn't mind, slinging an arm over Kíli and pulling him tight and close.

In his dreams, Kíli is back at their home in Ered Luin, sitting beside the hearth. The cat with her kittens lies near the fire. Yet the fire is burning low in its gate and all he can see clearly are the dark shadows smothering the windows. He turns and in the doorway stands a tall, grey man with long hair gleaming and an iron crown upon his head.

**V.**

'Where is the pale king?' He asks, and Fíli looks confused.

'It was only a dream,' he says, voice quiet and worried.

**VI.**

'Are you sure you're all right?'

Kíli nods. There is no time for him to be anything but - Tauriel _healed_ him, even Óin was impressed with what she'd done. Fíli presses a piece of cram into his hand and gives him a moment to gather himself. The cram tastes of nothing, but he forces himself to swallow and slowly pushes himself up. It hurts, a pain burning through him like poisoned ice.

He wonders if he is maimed for life.

**VII.**

By the time they reach the outflung branches of the mountain, he is weary beyond measure, no longer frustrated or embarrassed when Fíli has to hold him upright. There is a mist before Kíli's eyes that darkens as the sun fades, like a veil of shadow stands between him and the world around him, his brother, his friends. He is trapped in a waking dream of darkness and shadow. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the pale king leering at him. He shuts his eyes, pressing his brow against Fíli's shoulder and forces himself to keep walking.

**VII.**

They stop for the night when they might press on because of him. Óin claims it is for his own sake, that he is old and weary, but the first thing he does is check Kíli's wound. It is unchanged, a white mark stark against the sun-darkened skin. There is more kingsfoil, dried leaves pressed into his mouth and fresh leaves crushed into hot water washed over his face. The smell and taste is sweet and fair, bringing the thought of home, his mother's smile. Yet the pain does not abate, the ice within him does not melt.

'What is going on?' Fíli demands, 'She healed him, the wound is closed.'

'I don't know,' Óin says, and prods at Kíli's leg. Kíli jerks and swears, but his voice is thin and distant to his own ears. He reaches for Fíli, clutches his shoulder with all the strength left in him.

He's _scared_ , he realises dimly, the taste bitter in his mouth. Where is the star-queen now, why has she abandoned him to the darkness? He hears Fíli's voice in his ear, urging to him to do something, offering a restless litany of his name, and yet it comes from a great distance, as though it is night and Fíli himself is one of those far-flung stars in the distant night.

Webs of grey mist cover his eyes and in its strands, he sees the face of the pale king. He turns away, hides his face in Fíli's shoulder, and feels the world around him grow dim and dark. Fíli's hands on him tighten, his voice grows more distant, more urgent, and the darkness comes.

**IX.**

He wakes far from the Mountain, somewhere he does not recognise, amongst the long grass. Above him is a clear, dark night in which burns bright the seven stars that make up the Wain. There is no more pain or coldness left in the world, or so it seems. Turning his head to the side, he sees her again, the star-queen.

Yet it is not Tauriel. She – _Elentári_ , he thinks but does not know where the word comes from or even what it means – is tall and clad in garments of snow-white. Her hair is like the sky on a cloudless, moonless night: deep and dark and studded with stars. She is beautiful beyond endurance, mighty beyond measure. Yet her eyes are kind and gentle, her gaze sympathetic as their eyes meet.

Elentári smiles, the curve of her lips, the light of her eyes brighter and kinder than any light but the light of the stars. This, he thinks, this is what Tauriel spoke over in the halls of the Elven-king, why the Wood Elves love best the light of the stars. This is what he missed before, when he woke.

Cool fingers trail over his face, and the light that shines upon her face might be blinding.

**X.**

Once again, he wakes, and this time he is warm, wrapped tight in the folds of a blanket. The room is as dark and as light as the gloaming, the walls of rich stone, green as malachite, but smooth as marble, and he misses the sight of stars, but Fíli is by his side still. Tired and worn, the days etched in his face like centuries, Fíli still smiles when their eyes meet.

Awake, Kíli assesses himself. His body knows pain still, but it is not the cold pain, but the aching burn of a wound stitched close.

'There was a splinter,' Fíli says, stiffly, 'Of the arrow-head. It must have broken off, and—' Fíli's face is white, almost blinding in the dusky dark and Kíli fights with the blankets until he can get a hand free, to press it against Fíli's face.

'It's over, now,' he says, voice raw, 'It doesn't matter. I'm fine.'

'She was meant to _save_ you, and—'

'It wasn't her fault,' Kíli says, and he doesn't know why, but he knows it to be the truth. 'Where are we?'

Fíli blinks, face clearing, regaining colour, 'Erebor – oh Kíli, they're all alive, every one of them – Uncle and Balin and Bilbo – they're all alive!'

Kíli stares, laughs, and then shakes his head. He fights his way out of the blanket, gains enough mobility, at least, to grab Fíli and attempt to wrestle him down with him. There is a weakness in his body that he doesn't like, but here, in this room, his only opponent is Fíli, and he goes down easily enough. He presses his brow against his brother's.

'Everything sad is coming untrue,' Kíli says, joy bright in his voice.

Fíli's eyes seem to darken and the light is fading from the room, casting everything in shadow.

'Not everything,' Fíli says, and holds him closer. 

**Author's Note:**

> The "tall, grey man with long hair gleaming and an iron crown upon his head", otherwise referred to as the pale king, is the Witch-king of Angmar. 
> 
> Elentári is one of Varda's epithets, meaning star-queen.
> 
> Bard's quote was taken more-or-less word-for-word from the books. 
> 
> Kíli's condition was based on the Frodo's state in after being stabbed by a Morgul blade on Weathertop, as depicted by Tolkien.


End file.
